What Happens in Budapest, Doesn't Stay in Budapest
by Scarlet Loup
Summary: Agent Barton's life has calmed down in his years at the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. But, when Director Fury gives him a mission that is considered impossible to complete by the other agents, will Hawkeye finally meet his match? Rated M for later chapters. Includes Clintasha. R&R, please! I am always open to suggestions and ideas!


The sun rose slowly over Manhattan, bathing the city in warm, orange light. As New York's populace awoke gradually, SHIELD's headquarters, was already up and active.

Clinton Barton's alarm went off suddenly and without a warning at its set time, like any alarm is expected to do. Except, Clint never liked surprises. He moaned loudly and, with his head buried under the pillow, reached out blindly for the alarm clock. He smacked the snooze button roughly on his first try.

"I never miss…" he murmured, closing his eyes to wait for his alarm to blare again. Not even a minute had passed before the agent heard a loud knocking on his door.

"Agent Barton?" called a voice. The figure at the door knocked again. Clint bit his lip, fighting to stay quiet. After a few seconds, his pillow suffocated him and he had to sit up. The floor creaked slightly. "Damn it, Clint. I know you're in there…you never leave your nest until at least noon!"

"Shit…", Clint murmured. He slowly stood up from his pile of clothing and sheets and walked to the ladder. He climbed down from the loft and walked to the door, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He straightened his boxers a bit, the only clothing he wore. "Yes?" he asked, opening the door reluctantly. Agent Coulson stood upright, holding his hands in front of him, smiling softly at Clinton in a way that made him quite uneasy.

"Director Fury would like to see you. In his office" Coulson said, still giving him that terribly fake grin. Clinton ran a hand through his short, blonde hair.

"Uh, okay" he replied. He gave a soft yawn and rubbed his face with his hands as his eyelids fluttered drowsily.

"Great, thanks" said Coulson, turning and hurrying off down the hall. Clint watched him leave, thousands of questions still floating through his mind.

"…dork", he muttered. Somehow, insulting the agent made him feel a bit more at ease. Reluctantly, he pushed the metal door shut and turned around. Clint's room wasn't much, but that's how he liked it. It consisted of small training room with an archery range and high ceilings. Above it, a loft stood with a rickety metal ladder. He climbed back up this ladder now to his "nest". Even though it didn't help his back much, he slept on a pile of clothing and sheets from the bed Fury had brought him (which now lay against the wall as a target).

He pulled out a dark t-shirt and jeans from his nest and pulled them on over his boxers. His bow lay right next to the bed. Clint slung it over his shoulder, along with his quiver, before making his way back to the ladder. He started down it but groaned, remembering his alarm was set on snooze. Clint swung his legs back up into the loft and turned the alarm off before sliding down the ladder.

Clinton walked down the hallway, nodding tersely to the agents who passed him. Most of the agents returned Clint's nod but a few simply whispered something under their breaths. Clinton narrowed his eyes to slits, clenching his fists.

He turned the corner sharply and found himself standing in front of Fury's office. With a cough to clear his throat, he rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped in.

"You...uh, you wanted to see me sir?", asked Clinton, raising a thin, blonde eyebrow. Fury looked up from the papers he clutched.

"Glad to see you up before noon, Hawk", said the Director, his gaze hard as stone. Clinton fought back the urge to roll his eyes.

"You needed something?". Fury nodded slowly, pulling a Manila folder out of his desk and thrusting it toward the agent. Clint opened it and flipped through it. The folder contained a handful of pictures, some documents, and newspaper clippings. Each one relating to a murder or some woman. The pictures all showed the same woman...but not once did he read the same name.

"What...what is this?", he asked, looking up at Nick.

"Your next assignment, Agent Barton". Clinton looked down at the papers again, maybe he hadn't read them correctly?

"Sir...did you mix up your files?". Nick Fury rolled his good eye.

"No, Agent", he replied in a tone that made Clint feel like an idiot. "Her name is Natasha Romanoff. We need you to bring her in for questioning". Clint chuckled lightly.

"I don't fight women, Director", he said. "And I know absolutely nothing about her..."

"Well, you better learn how to", Nick retorted. "And that's why I gave you that file, Agent Barton...". Clint sighed softly. He never would win with Fury, would he?

"Is that all sir?".

"Your plane to Budapest leaves in 2 hours". Clint smirked and walked toward the door, holding the file.

"I always wanted to go to Budapest", he told Fury before he closed the door.


End file.
